Contemporary Milan, Italy.
In the dazzling world of Vincitore Academy, Margherita, a half-Korean firebrand from humble beginnings, ignites a clash of wills with the P2, the city's elite quartet of dazzling and infuriatingly entitled boys.
Yet, privi...
A couple days later, she found on her desk a magazine, open at a double-page picture of the famous model Ludovica Zampieri. At eighteen, the Milanese had traveled the world acting and modeling, but more importantly using her visibility to talk about minorities and less privileged groups. Margherita had always admired her.
Ludovica was the daughter of one of the biggest meats companies in the country, but—at least on TV—she'd seemed kind and polite, refined, gracious: the way Margherita had expected wealthy people would be.
She read the article with interest. In a corner, Stefania had signed her name and scribbled, "Enjoy!"
Margherita understood why when she turned the page. A lovely picture of a younger Lorenzo laughed, beaming as Marghe had never seen him, with Ludovica in his arms. The magazine claimed they'd been inseparable since childhood.
According to the journalist, Lorenzo had been raised pretty much by the Vincitores after the tragic loss of his parents in a car accident when he'd been four. Part of the same entourage, Ludovica had been a big sister to Lorenzo, who'd been nonverbal for the two years following the accident. Ludovica's solar disposition had brought him out of his shell.
The magazine insinuated things had gotten messy after puberty. Gossip of a romantic tryst between Ludovica and the minor had pushed the actress to Los Angeles, where she'd starred in a Hollywood movie and attended acting school for the past year. With the scandal blown over, Ludovica was now returning to Milan, which explained Lorenzo's unusual good mood.
"Lost your spunk?" Stefania grinned, leaning on Margherita's desk. "About time." She snatched the magazine back.
Apparently, Margherita's huge disappointment was a surprise only to herself.
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At recess, in the courtyard, Mauro worried around Marghe. "Is this about the party? Come on, who cares!"
The science teacher, Professor Cerimele, chimed in. "Pescatore, do you have a minute?"
Margherita walked with the teacher along the path. Young, maybe mid-twenties, with short blond hair and clever green eyes that moved constantly, Prof. Cerimele was different from the faculty that Margherita tended to distrust.
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